Christopher Schroeder

Category: community and culture

  • More From Moore

    More From Moore

    I can appreciate that Natalie Moore was able to watch both Prada movies with her mother but question the relevance of her most recent column.

    The sequel might have coincided as Moore suggests with a new Media Insight Project report, but it offers less about the future of media in the United States than she suggests. Rather, the movie relegates journalism, “Capital J” or not, to the setting for a continuing story that was started in the first movie.

    Corporate raiders might appear in the second to dismantle legacy publications, but the “page views” emphasis for example predates Andy’s return as the new features editor. Rather, the movie focuses primarily upon the relationship between Andy, who in her time away has become an award-winning journalist, and her former and future boss Miranda.

    This relationship, which occupies the center of this story, says more about time and aging, and the effects of these upon working relationships among women. Andy, who now trusts learned her instincts and advocates for herself, discovers that the world could be less vicious than she otherwise believed. Miranda in turn finds in Andy a former and perhaps future version of herself, someone who if they can collaborate will enhance both Miranda’s legacy and her life.

    This focus is not only established by the new working relationship between Andy and Miranda, but it is reinforced by the newfound friendship between Andy and her erstwhile rival Emily. Emily, who is working for Dior at the start of the movie, agrees to use her boyfriend Benji to buy the company and unbeknownst to Andy to install her in Miranda’s position, which Andy and Miranda subsequently prevent by finding yet another buyer, which nonetheless doesn’t prevent Andy and Emily from becoming friends.

    In this and other ways, this sequel is more about corporate relationships than the future of journalism, which makes this op-ed seem more like a vanity opportunity that allows Moore to reminisce about her mother and her career without offering much of substance to readers. This condition becomes even clearer in contrast with the only other op-ed in that Sunday newspaper.

    That reveals a larger concern, one that is actually about the future of journalism in Chicago. The Sun-Times seems to have generally reduced its op-eds, and some days offers none to its readers. Such circumstances can only increase the pressure for more from Moore, and from her editors and publisher.

  • The First Thing We Do

    The First Thing We Do

    I admire Zindy Marquez’s courage in confronting those of us who are retreating from “sustained advocacy, policy reform, civic engagement[,] and long-term commitments” to “racial justice” as these have become “politically and culturally unpopular,” and think she is right.

    I agree that those who believe that the United States isn’t still shaped by institutionalized inequality are ignoring “the very systems that continue to produce inequitable outcomes today,” and that such “coordinated” efforts misrepresent the past and distort the present to dictate an unequal future. And I accept her claims about the Chicago Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights and the communities with which it collaborates.

    I just think she has offered an incomplete account of the problem.

    Marquez to her credit mentions those who found the pursuit of social justice “easier in theory than in sustained practice,” but she ignores both the history of this inconsistency and the conditions of its continuation. In contrast, I would include the hypocrisy among activists, lawyers, teachers, and others

    Such conditions have been convincingly documented by Musa al-Gharbi (2024) in WE HAVE NEVER BEEN WOKE. He offers in this book a compelling account of the way that symbolic capitalists, or those whose status or prestige comes from the knowledge economy, have used social justice discourse, and especially cultural identity discussions, to increase their own influence while ignoring the underlying economic conditions, including their own position within such a hierarchy.

    Anyone who hasn’t read this book and cares about social justice should do so to discover the ways that we maintain existing inequalities while espousing the opposite. Such insights might make us more likely to make more productive changes, or at least more aware of the efforts we need to make if we’re to do so.

    These efforts could also challenge the persistent impression among some that progressives cannot be trusted to work and live with professional and personal integrity, which might mean more allies. If nothing else, these reduce the source of examples used by these “coordinated” critics.

    This fuller account might mean we avoid replacing one social hierarchy with another, which merely reverses this discrimination without moving the United States forward. At least it offers a more appealing account of institutionalized inequality and more convincing arguments about alternative, including shared sacrifices for a greater good.

    Those who pursue greater social justice do much harm by promoting our intellectual and moral superiority. Instead, we should demonstrate the existence of this discrimination, including the part we play in perpetuating it, and the greater benefits of more equitable options, and must do so in good faith over and over, and not just in our political ideas but also our personal choices with an obvious respect for everyone, including those with whom we disagree.

    That is a better, and potentially more productive, way to care for our entire community as we pursue a more perfect union, one in which everyone is more equal than we all are now.

  • Frenemies and Families

    Frenemies and Families

    Among Friends by Hal Ebbott is a flawed yet perhaps fascinating novel ostensibly about college friends Emerson and Amos.

    Emerson, who introduces Amos to his friend Claire, appears when Amos needs someone, which cements their connection. This connection eventually includes Claire, whom Amos marries, and Emerson’s wife Retsy as well as their respective daughters Anna and Sophie.

    book cover image

    The point of view shifts throughout the story, and attempts to establish some sympathy with all of the central characters, but at its center as the title suggests is the connection among the four of them, or at least Emerson, Amos, and Claire. These three are balanced by Retsy, who also counterbalances the pressure added by Claire to the friendship between Amos and Emerson.

    Claire, whose history with Emerson at times makes Amos uneasy, displays competing and confusing loyalties throughout the story. Emerson, who assumes that other discuss and even mock him, has an often hidden cruelty that is more revealed than developed.

    This cruelty becomes clear to Amos at the end, and catalyzes his change, which is the final focus of the plot and seems to make the novel in the end his story. For most of it, Amos exhibits a relatively uninteresting uncertainty and insecurity, which makes his eventual courage either more moving or less plausible.

    This courage comes from nowhere except his empathy for his daughter Anna, and specifically his ability to put her needs ahead of his own. As a result, Amos transforms what until that point had been embarrassing, and has been used against him, which almost redeems his emotional suffering and generates an unexpected strength.

    The problem with such an interpretation is the ending, which is too ambiguous and perhaps too rushed. Amos acts independently at the risk of his marriage, and also agrees to Claire’s proposed remedy, which is a family vacation for the three of them that he believes might salvage their marriage.

    Amos and Claire however consult Retsy and Emerson for a recommendation even as they intend once there to follow Anna’s direction. That could refer to her preferences for excursions, which is plausible, but doesn’t rule out an invitation to Emerson, Retsy, and Sophie to join them.

    This second possibility could portend reconciliation and forgiveness, which seems unrealistic or at the very least an awful possibility. I cannot comment on the proper protocol for such situation — I’m being deliberately vague to avoid revealing too much — and yet am horrified by the prospect of returning to regular interactions among them.

    Such an outcome only seems possible, and given the rest of the plot somewhat implausible. If intentional, the novel asks questions about whether we should judge others by their worst moments and if some actions permanently destroy long relationships, in which case the conclusion needs more care, and craft, if only to convince readers that they’re deliberately agitated.

    This more generous interpretation would suggest that this story starts as a slow burn only to burst however briefly into a flame, which would be reason enough to read it.